We spend our lives trying to keep our "housecoats" clean. We curate our appearances, polish our words, and avoid the muddy banks of life to ensure no one sees us falter. My grandmother spent eighty years being the pillar of her community, the deacon’s wife, and the woman who never had a hair out of place.
The rain had been falling for three days, a steady, drumming grief against the aluminum window frames of the County Home. Room 117 smelled of lemon polish and distant urine. My grandmother, Elena, sat in her recliner by the window, her hands curled like dried leaves in her lap. She hadn't spoken a full sentence in two years. My Grandmother -Grandma- you-re wet- -Final- By...
“You’re wet. And that’s all right. I’ve got you.” We spend our lives trying to keep our "housecoats" clean